DISCLAIMER: Everything in the Harry Potter universe belongs to JK Rowling.

Chapter 1

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table. They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

Harry dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and — a letter for Harry. Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives — he didn't belong to the library, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive Little

Whinging

Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Harry hesitated. Uncle Vernon's comment had made him suspicious. This letter didn't have a stamp, and real letters that came with the mail always had stamps. And it was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs, that was a huge giveaway. Real letters weren't addressed to people's bedrooms, were they? And no one outside the Dursleys knew about Harry's cupboard, so this must be some stupid joke from Dudley. It probably had some disgusting drawing inside, or a card that said 'freaks don't get mail, keep dreaming'.

"If you don't get in here right now you can forget about breakfast, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon angrily.

Startled, Harry hid his letter under the doormat —whether it was real or not he would rather open it when there weren't any Dursleys around to mock him or to take the letter away from him— and went back to the kitchen to hand over the bill and the postcard.

"What took you so bloody long?" demanded Uncle Vernon as he snatched the letters from Harry's hand.

"It wasn't so long," argued Harry, hoping it didn't show in his face that he was hiding something.

"Don't talk back!" snapped Aunt Petunia.

Harry kept quiet for the rest of the meal. To his luck he was allowed to eat something, but he was too nervous to savour it. He kept expecting Dudley to say something about the letter or to sneer at him knowingly, but his cousin had gone back to watch TV as soon as it had become clear that Uncle Vernon was too distracted with Aunt Marge's letter as to continue berating Harry.

Dudley's lack of reaction was making Harry wonder. What if the letter was real? Who in the world would write to him?

He tried really hard not to have any hopes, but he was failing.

What if there was some lost relative out there trying to contact him? Aunt Petunia had said he didn't have anyone left, but what about friends of his mum and dad? Even if they were worthless people like Harry's parents had been, he would like to meet them.

Perhaps they would allow him to ask questions, and they would answer them.

Even though Harry made sure to retrieve the letter from under the doormat and hide it in his cupboard soon after breakfast, he didn't have a chance to open it until that night after dinner when Uncle Vernon locked him away. For once, it didn't bother Harry not to be allowed to stay in the living room with them, and he didn't stick his ear to the door as he usually did to try to hear what was going on in the TV show.

He didn't have any light inside his cupboard (the light bulb had burnt out years ago and Aunt Petunia had refused to let him have a new one), but he knew just how to position himself so as to be able to read using the luminosity that filtered under the door. It was how he had ever managed to get any homework done, and why he always hoped the Dursleys forgot to turn off the foyer's lights for as long as possible.

Harry listened carefully to make sure all the Dursleys were still laughing a safe distance away and then took out the letter. He narrowed his eyes to make out the words in the dim light.

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

Yes, it was definitely addressed to him. And that handwriting was too elegant to belong to anyone associated to Dudley. Taking a deep breath and reminding himself not to expect anything good, Harry broke the weird seal and slid a trembling hand into the envelop, for an instant fearing to find it empty despite its evident thickness.

It wasn't empty.

With no little difficulty, Harry read the first page of the letter.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Harry sighed in disappointment, his stupid hope immediately vanishing and leaving behind an even bigger hole than he had already had inside him. Of course the letter was a joke, when was he going to accept that there was no one out there interested in Harry or even aware of him?

School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, scoffed Harry mentally, shaking his head and forcing himself not to succumb to tears over this nonsense.

It was an elaborated prank, he had to admit when he saw the enclosed list of required books and equipment. There was even a train ticket! But even that was an obvious joke, since it said Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Harry had never travelled by train, but he had heard Uncle Vernon talking about picking up Aunt Marge from King's Cross several times and he was certain he had never mentioned a fractioned platform number.

Harry put everything back inside the envelop and hid it under his thin mattress again before lying on his back and covering himself with his threadbare blanket. He stared at the black ceiling of his cupboard, his mind escaping to the land of fantasy and painful wishes.

What he wouldn't give for the letter to be real! Harry would welcome any change in situation no matter how ordinary —he was actually looking forward to going to a different secondary school than Dudley even if it was a bad one—, but to be accepted at a school of witchcraft where he could learn to cast spells and make mysterious potions? With a wand and a cauldron? Where people could maybe fly on brooms? Dreams couldn't get better than that.

What would Harry be in that fantasy? A wizard? A sorcerer? A warlock?

Harry, Supreme Sorcerer of the Order of Merlin.

He would really like to be able to fly. Harry thought a motorcycle would be more comfortable than a broomstick, but either one would be great, and even better would be to be able to transform into an eagle or something like that and fly with his own wings...

What else would he be able to do? Could he perhaps make food appear at will? Turn any metal into gold? Make himself invisible? Live forever?

The Dursleys would not bother him if he were a powerful sorcerer, that's for sure. If they tried, he could flick his magic wand and turn them all into mice. Or he could just snap his fingers and teleport himself somewhere far far away where the Dursleys couldn't get to him. And then he would find some nice remote place where to raise a palace with another spell and invite over his sorcerer friends. Assuming someone would want to be friends with him, of course. If that still weren't an option, he would like at least to have a pet. Not a toad, definitely. And Harry's visits to Mrs. Figgs had given him the impression that cats weren't very friendly, so that was also a no. An owl? Shrug. A snake like the one in the zoo would be nice, although he supposed he would be happy with any animal if he could talk to them too...

Harry froze.

His mind seemed to go completely still for a minute, and then everything began to spin.

He could hear his heart pounding against his chest.

Harry had held a conversation with a boa constrictor.

They had talked about Brazil.

Afterwards he had thought he had hallucinated the whole thing, but at the time it had felt completely real and natural, and now...

The Dursleys had always said that Harry was a freak. They accused him of doing freakish things, punished him for it even though there was no way Harry could have make them happen.

Or was there?

Could the Dursleys be right about him? Could all those strange things that often happened around Harry be caused by him? Could he have been doing... magic without realizing? Absurd as it sounded, it actually made sense. There certainly wasn't a non-magical way to explain how those freakish things happened. Harry might not be a scientist, but he understood enough of physics and biology and how reality worked as to know that glass couldn't simply vanish, hair couldn't completely re-grow overnight and normal people couldn't jump so high as to end up on a roof.

Magic would explain all that, though.

Was Harry really a freak?

A sorcerer of sorts?

Was there really a school for people like him?

He hit his head against the cupboard's ceiling in his rush to retrieve the envelop from under the mattress and spread the letter under the dim ray of light. He fumbled in the dark for his glasses and then read everything again, his eyes lingering on the signature of the so called Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. Could she be a real person?

Were there others in the world, like Harry?

He didn't think he would mind to be a freak if he weren't the only one.

Or if it meant he could have power.

Power to protect himself.

Power to get anything he needed or wanted.

Power to fly away... or to turn the Dursleys into mice if they bothered him.

This chapter was posted on Mar 28, 2022